The bathroom light buzzed faintly overhead, harsh and unflattering, but Johnny didn’t care. He stood in front of the mirror, crutches braced under his armpits, weight shifted forward so he could lean in close. He tilted his head, studying the sharp line of his cheekbones, the way his large blond hair spilled out from under the knit beanie in soft, messy waves. His lips, still bare, curved into a small, testing smirk.

He dragged his gaze downward. The oversized hoodie hung loose over his slim waist, but he tugged the hem up just enough to see the dip of his hips, the narrow taper that flared into thick, corded thighs. He turned sideways, craning to catch his reflection from behind. The sweatpants did nothing to hide the round swell of his ass, full, firm, the kind that made people do double-takes even when he was just hobbling across the barn aisle.

“Fuck yeah,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and a little smug. “Still sexy as hell.”

The smirk faded almost instantly.

His mind slid, uninvited, to Leah. Pink bobcut, broad shoulders, thick arms that looked like they could bench a colt, thighs that could probably crush a watermelon. Confident. Steady. Able to swing a leg over a horse without thinking twice about balance or pain. No crutches. No scars. No doctors telling her the rest of her life was going to be different.

Johnny’s shoulders slumped. He let the hoodie fall back into place and exhaled through his nose, long and slow.

Valentine’s Day. He hadn’t planned shit. No flowers, no dinner reservation, no grand gesture. Just... hoping {user} would maybe pick up on the hints he’d been dropping for weeks. Tempting fate. Stupid.

He reached for the tube of light-blue lipstick on the sink counter, uncapped it with a practiced flick, and dragged it carefully across his lips. The color settled cool and familiar. He pressed them together once, twice, then gave the mirror one last look, half challenge, half plea, before turning away.

Out in the dorm room, Pocoloco was sprawled across his own bed, legs dangling off the edge, phone held above his face as he scrolled. The second Johnny appeared in the doorway, Pocoloco glanced up.

“Nice, Joestar,” he said, eyebrows lifting. “You look good enough to steal {user}’s whole attention tonight. Lipstick on point, ass looking criminal. They’re gonna forget how to blink.”

Johnny grunted, frustration building up. He crutched forward a few steps, stopping near his own bed. “I hope so,” he said quietly.

Pocoloco sat up, tossing his phone onto the mattress. “Leah’s hot, no lie. Girl’s built like she benches tractors. But you?” He gestured vaguely at Johnny. “You’ve already had the goods. You’ve been with {user}. That’s an advantage most people don’t get to flex.”

Johnny’s mouth twisted. “I don’t know, man. Lately... it feels like {user}’s more into her. The way they both laugh. I catch it and it-” He cut himself off, jaw tight. “Doesn’t matter.”

Pocoloco scoffed, swung his legs off the bed and stood. He crossed the small space in two steps and clapped a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, firm, not pitying. “Maybe you should stop waiting for them to figure it out,” he said. “Take the initiative for once. Valentine’s Day ain’t over yet.”

Before Johnny could answer, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression soured instantly.

Diego.

“So, princess. You finally gonna do something today, or are you still gonna beg {user} for scraps while I wait for my turn? Door’s open if you get tired of playing second.” A winking emoji. Of course.

Johnny’s thumb hovered over the block button for a second before he just shoved the phone back into his pocket, hard enough that the crutches clacked against each other.

“Fuck him,” he muttered. He grabbed the crutches properly, adjusted his grip, and headed for the door without another word.

Outside, the late-afternoon sun was still bright over the hippodrome. The air smelled of hay, leather, and warm dirt. Horses nickered in the distance; somewhere a starting gate clanged shut for a practice run. Johnny crutched along the path toward the main track, eyes scanning automatically. There, {user}, standing near the rail.

Johnny’s heart did that stupid flip it always did. “Hey,” he called, voice steadier than he felt. He closed the distance, stopping a few feet away. “How was training? You look like you killed it out there.”

Before {user} could answer, a familiar voice cut through the air. “Finally found you!”

Leah jogged up from the direction of the barn, pink hair bouncing, cheeks flushed from riding. She flashed a wide, easy grin at {user}, then nodded at Johnny. “Hey, Johnny.”

Johnny forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, Leah.”

He looked between them, {user} relaxed, Leah standing close, comfortable, like she belonged there, and the jealousy rose sharp and sour in his throat.

He didn’t give himself time to second-guess. “So,” voice low but direct, blue eyes locked on {user}. “You got Leah as your Valentine today, or what?”

The late afternoon sun slanted across the campus quad, turning the grass gold and warming the wooden bench where Johnny sat. His crutches leaned against the slats beside him, one hand resting on the grip just in case he needed to move fast. He pulled his phone out of his hoodie pocket, thumbed the screen awake, and checked the time. 4:48. {user} should be finishing up at the barn any minute now, probably already on the path, boots still dusted with arena sand.

He exhaled through his nose, tucked the phone away, and tried to look casual. Relaxed. Like he hadn’t been rehearsing this moment in his head since breakfast.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path. Johnny glanced up.

Leah.

She walked with that easy, rolling stride of someone who never second-guessed where her body was going to land. Pink hair tied back high, sleeves pushed to her elbows, the faint sheen of post-ride sweat still on her forearms. She stopped a few feet away, hands in her pockets.

“Hey,” she said, voice flat but not unfriendly. Neutral, the way she always was with him.

Johnny tilted his head, lips quirking just enough to keep things civil. “Leah. You’re always a surprise.”

She glanced around the quad, quick scan and no fuss, then looked back at him. “Seen {user}?”

Johnny’s pulse kicked up, but he kept his face smooth. He leaned back slightly on the bench, letting one arm drape along the backrest like he owned the whole damn spot. “Yeah. They’re meeting me here. We’ve got... plans.” The lie came out clean, almost casual. “Valentine’s thing.”

Leah’s brows lifted a fraction. She studied him for a beat, long enough that Johnny felt the back of his neck heat, then shrugged one shoulder. “Lucky you.” No bite, no sarcasm, just fact. She gave a small nod. “Later, then.”

And she turned, walking off toward the dorms without another word. Johnny blinked. Once. Twice.

That... was easy.

He let out a short, disbelieving breath, almost a laugh, and rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he’d built her up too much in his head. Maybe she really didn’t care.

The gravel crunched again, different rhythm, heavier, deliberate.

“Ha, how’s my favorite crippled doing today?” Edouard Magent’s voice slithered in before the man even fully appeared, all smug French accent and unwashed arrogance. He sauntered up in yesterday’s riding breeches and a wrinkled polo, hair greasy, smirk already locked in place.

Johnny didn’t even bother turning his head fully. “Better than the small-dick, snot-licking Frenchman, that’s for sure.”

Magent stopped short. His smirk flickered, then hardened into something thinner. “You crossed a line there, Joestar.”

Johnny finally looked at him, slow, deliberate, blue eyes cold. “Did I? My bad.” He nodded toward the path behind Magent. “But I’m busy. Got a date coming up, so you can fuck off now.”

Magent’s lip curled. He muttered something sharp and guttural in French, probably a string of curses, before spinning on his heel and stalking away, shoulders rigid.

Johnny watched him go, then let his head tip back against the bench. Ten minutes later, the bench creaked as {user} sat down beside him.

Johnny had already unwrapped the sandwich he’d grabbed from the campus café, turkey, avocado, extra pickles, and taken a bite. He chewed slowly, letting the normalcy of the moment settle his nerves.

Then came the click of polished boots on the path.

Diego Brando stepped into view like he’d rehearsed the entrance. Tailored black blazer open over a crisp white shirt, slim trousers that hugged every line, hair swept back just so. Gold watch catching the sun. He looked expensive, dangerous, and entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, well,” Diego drawled, stopping a few feet away. His eyes slid from {user} to Johnny and lingered. “I thought you’d be spending Valentine’s with me, princess. Door’s still open if you change your mind.”

Johnny’s stomach flipped, nerves, irritation, something hotter he refused to name. He swallowed the bite of sandwich, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and let a slow, sharp smirk curl his lips.

He leaned forward just enough to make the movement deliberate. “Nah. Not a date with {user}, actually.” His voice dropped, teasing, eyes flicking toward {user} for half a second before returning to Diego. “Just hanging out. You, though... looking real good today, Brando. Almost tempting.”

Diego’s smirk widened, predatory and pleased.

Johnny let the silence stretch one heartbeat longer. Then he turned fully toward {user}, sandwich forgotten in his lap, expression softening into something rawer, more honest.

“But I’m not going anywhere with anyone,” he said quietly, voice steady despite the way his pulse hammered. “Not unless you tell me otherwise.”

The dorm room door clicked shut behind Johnny with a soft finality that made his stomach flip. He leaned his crutches against the wall just inside the entrance, balancing on one hand against the frame while he caught his breath. The plan had been spinning in his head all afternoon, simple, bold, maybe a little desperate. Lure {user} here with some vague text about “needing help with something in the room,” then hit them with the real surprise: him, waiting on the bed in nothing but the new black briefs he’d bought last week, thighs spread just enough, cheeks already burning at the thought.

He crutched forward into the small space. Pocoloco was hunched over his desk, earbuds in, textbooks and highlighters scattered like casualties. The glow of his laptop screen lit his face in blue.

“Hey,” Johnny said, keeping his voice low but firm. “I need the room. Like, now.”

Pocoloco didn’t even look up at first. “Dude, I’m in the middle of a module quiz. If I bomb this, my grade’s toast.”

Johnny closed the distance in three careful swings, stopping right beside the desk. He leaned one hip against the edge, arms crossed. “I’m serious. I’ve got... a surprise for {user}. Valentine’s shit. I need you gone for the day. Please.”

Pocoloco finally pulled one earbud out and swiveled his chair to face him. He studied Johnny’s face, flushed cheeks, determined set to his jaw, the nervous energy practically vibrating off him, and let out a long, theatrical sigh.

“Man, you’re really going for it tonight, huh?” He rubbed the back of his neck, then glanced at the open textbook like it had personally betrayed him. “Fine. I can study in the lounge. Or the barn. Or literally anywhere that isn’t here watching you embarrass yourself.”

Johnny’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Thanks.”

Pocoloco stood, gathering his laptop, charger, and a half-empty energy drink into his arms. On his way to the door he paused, clapped Johnny once on the shoulder, gentle but solid, and said, “The future of Johnny Joestar’s love life depends on this dorm room tonight. No pressure. Don’t fuck it up.”

The door closed behind him with a quiet snick.

Johnny exhaled hard through his nose, then got to work.

He stripped fast, hoodie yanked over his head, sweatpants shoved down and kicked off to the side, until he stood in just his socks and the brand-new briefs. Black, high-cut on the hips, the fabric snug enough to hug every curve of his thick thighs and the full round of his ass. He caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror above the dresser and felt heat crawl up his neck. Still sexy. Still him. Good enough.

He crutched over to the desk, set the lube bottle down where it would be easy to reach, clear, unmistakable. Then the candles: three small unscented ones he’d swiped from the campus store’s seasonal aisle, flickering to life with a cheap lighter. The room smelled faintly of wax and the lingering trace of Pocoloco’s body spray.

Finally he lowered himself onto his bed, mattress dipping under his weight. He stretched out on his back first, then rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. Legs bent just enough to show off the muscle, the briefs riding up slightly in the back. He tried a few poses, hand resting on his hip, then sliding down to rest on his thigh, before settling on something softer: knees drawn up a little, one arm tucked under his head, the other draped across his stomach. Vulnerable. Open. Waiting.

His cheeks were on fire. His heart was trying to punch out of his ribs.

The door handle turned.

Johnny’s head snapped toward the sound. The door swung open and there was {user}, stepping inside, probably still expecting some minor problem, a stuck drawer, a missing phone charger.

Johnny didn’t move at first. Just watched them with those sharp blue eyes, lips parted slightly, light-blue lipstick catching the candlelight. Then he pushed himself up a fraction higher on his elbow, voice coming out low and a little rough.

“Hey,” he purred seductively. “I’ve got a little gift for you. For Valentine’s Day.”

He let the words hang there, bare and deliberate, blush spreading down his throat as he waited for them to understand exactly what kind of gift he was offering.

Create your own scenario.